


Lie in the Sound

by raiast



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Episode: s02e11 Ko No Mono, First Kiss, First Time, Graphic(ish) description of ortolan feasting, M/M, Season 2 AU, Season 2 Fix-It, Will figures his shit out way earlier, so no Mizumono
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 21:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18081008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiast/pseuds/raiast
Summary: Following the intense ortolan dinner, Will finds himself admitting to truths he had dared not consider and helpless to the pull of Hannibal. A little what-if number where Will stops being an idiot and he and Hannibal get together much sooner.





	Lie in the Sound

**Author's Note:**

> This is not anything I am supposed to be working on right now. I'm not sorry.
> 
> Title comes from the amazing song Lie in the Sound by Trespassers William.

The ortolan bunting was a uniquely invigorating experience. Will watched Hannibal closely as he explained the delicacy and followed suit when he reached over to gingerly pick up one of the birds.

Will held it before him, studying it, wondering vaguely why he didn’t feel repulsed. “Bones and all?”

“Bones and all,” Hannibal confirmed. He turned his gaze back to the bunting between his fingers and raised it to his mouth, acutely aware of Hannibal’s sharp eyes trained on him with interest.

The bird felt heavy on his tongue, though it couldn’t have weighed more than an ounce, and felt almost too large for his mouth. He brought his teeth down without hesitation to make it a more manageable bite. The combination of liquor and blood bursting into his mouth was almost startling, though oddly not unpleasant; a sweet burn with the tang of copper and a pungent bitterness hidden underneath. The bones did not present as much of a problem as he would have thought, delicate enough to be broken down easily as he chewed.

He glanced to Hannibal, feeling strangely like he was looking for approval; Hannibal did look pleased, and laid his own bunting to rest in his mouth. A buzzing warmth rippled through him as he watched Hannibal and finished his own bite, and when the heat settled firmly in his groin Will was surprised to label the feeling as desire. He let his eyes drift closed as he swallowed the mass in his mouth, finding he need to actively deny the desire to moan as it passed down his throat.

“After my first ortolan I was euphoric,” Hannibal told him when he met his eyes again. “A stimulating reminder of our power over life and death.”

“I was euphoric when I killed Freddie Lounds,” Will lied.

\---

They took a nightcap in the study after dinner. Will nursed his scotch in front of the fire as Hannibal attended to a phone call. He recalled (with equal parts humor and shame) the look of abject horror that had passed through Hannibal’s eyes the first time he’d been served a scotch and knocked back half the glass in one go. Hannibal’s scotch, as it turned out, was not akin to the bottom-shelf whiskey Will kept stocked in his own home.

He stared at the flames, thinking about ortolans and Becomings and lures and courtships. He wondered, not for the first time, why Hannibal had decided to set his sights on Will. He also struggled to reconcile with the fact that the trap he and Jack intended to set for Hannibal was feeling increasingly like a seduction every day, and Will was no longer sure who was seducing whom. He was beginning to feel more and more as though he were just as likely to fall prey to the snare as Hannibal was.

“What is it that has you looking so contemplative, Will?” Hannibal must have joined him at some point. Will hadn’t even heard him approach.

He turned a wry smile to his host and took another delicate sip from his tumbler. “Self-deprecating thoughts, mostly,” he admitted softly, turning back to the fireplace. Hannibal was close; close enough that Will could twitch a finger on the hand that hung between them and meet his own. He could feel the warmth radiating at his side just as sure as he could feel it from the flames before him.

“I would be interested to hear, if you wouldn’t mind sharing,” he prompted.

His voice had a way of pulling things from Will. He found himself speaking his thoughts out loud without hesitation, as if Hannibal’s lilting tones had flipped a switch in Will’s brain from ‘private’ to ‘broadcast’. “I still find it...curious, the lengths you’ve gone to for me. I’m not…” Will was dejected to discover that the first word he wanted to leap to was ‘enough’. “I’m not like you. I don’t wear bespoke suits or go to the opera. The amount of Creole French I remember barely qualifies as semi-fluent. I’m the kind of guy that shoots good scotch and works with my hands.” He couldn’t tell if his face felt hot from the scotch or the fire or from pure embarrassment, so he elected to keep his gaze averted from Hannibal’s, even as he heard the small sigh beside him.

“You _are_ like me, Will,” his voice was soft and reassuring and firm. “Inside you hold a darkness that you’ve fought your whole life to contain. I have only ever wanted to help you release it. To help you understand that you don’t have to struggle eternally with what you are.”

“What am I?” the question was barely a breath, the inquirer terrified of the answer.

“ _More_.”

Will turned at the word, thrilled at the way it was spoken. His lips parted as he met Hannibal’s gaze, flickering red in the light of the fire, though he knew that he had no words to refute that.

“And I can take you to the opera, or teach you another language, if you wish,” he informed Will. “And you’ve already learned about the scotch,” amusement colored his tone as he nodded to the tumbler in Will’s hand. At the reminder Will finished the last sip and set it down on the end table behind him. “If what you wish is a new wardrobe, I’d be happy to dress you, if you’d allow it,” Will felt the flush in his cheeks extend to his ears and neck at the suggestion. “But don’t think that we aren’t the same.”

Will’s heart bashed against his rib cage as Hannibal raised a hand to grasp his neck fondly; his skin flamed where Hannibal’s skin touched his. He was transported immediately to the stables, could smell musty hay and the coppery tang of the blood-soaked air. “Our darkness is the same, as is our greatness. When you devoured your ortolan I could smell power and arousal flow through you, the same as it did me.”

Will swallowed thickly, wondering vaguely again which of the two of them was supposed to be the seducer. _Maybe we’re seducing each other_ , he thought. “What does my arousal smell like?”

Hannibal seemed pleased that he bothered to ask. “Like you, only muskier. Heady and tangy. Intoxicating, delicious.”

His eyes had slipped closed as that smooth voice rolled over his; his whole body buzzed, feeling light and heavy all at once. He didn’t think it was from the scotch. Hannibal’s office flashed through his mind, the bronze stag statue at the forefront.

 _Did you just_ smell _me?_

 _Difficult to avoid_ , the psychiatrist had replied, brushing the strange action off by placing the blame on Will’s aftershave.

A slow-burning anger sparked in Will, flaming to life when he leveled hard eyes on Hannibal. “What does encephalitis smell like?” he bit out.

Hannibal didn’t seem surprised that he’d worked it out. “Dr. Sutcliffe asked me the same question,” he responded, unphased by Will’s anger. Will thought about the neurologist, butchered in his office, suddenly feeling satisfied that the man was dead and unsatisfied that he couldn't kill him.  “But is that the question you really want an answer to right now?” Hannibal continued.

It wasn’t, Will realized. He felt something shift and crack inside himself and wondered if this was what defeat felt like. After everything, even after _everything_ … “Why don’t I hate you?” he hated the way his voice hitched more than he hated the man in front of him. After _everything_.

“Because deep down you know that what I do is for your benefit,” he answered easily, and Will wondered if there would ever be a question Hannibal didn’t have an answer to. “All I want, Will, is to free you from your self-imposed torment. Help you to see what you could be. What _we_ could be together.”

The two stood so close they breathed the same air, Hannibal’s hand still cradling his head reassuringly. Will could feel the wave of desire pouring off of Hannibal and he seemed to soak it up, breathing it into his own body to flow hotly through his veins, shivering down to make his cock twitch and harden at his thigh. Hannibal leaned forward, placing his nose along Will’s throat and unabashedly inhaling his scent. The action sent another flood of arousal to jolt through him, more blood yet pulsing to his groin and Will’s breath hitched in surprise, choking down the whimper that threatened to tumble forth.

They were nearly chest to chest now, Hannibal’s face still ghosting along the column of his throat. Will could simply turn his head to meet the other man’s lips… “Is this real?” he breathed, allowing his hands to slip beneath Hannibal’s jacket to timidly brush along his hips as they simultaneously shifted closer together. “Or just another one of your manipulations?”

“It’s real, Will,” Hannibal’s lips murmured against his pulse before slowly ascending to drag along his jawline. “More real than I’d hoped it could be.”

His sincerity made Will ache; only served as a reminder of his own manipulations. He fought every impulse in him to turn into the warm lips on his skin, pulled back slightly before Hannibal could make the decision for him. It _was_ real. As real for him as it was for Hannibal. And he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let it begin this way.

“Freddie Lounds is alive.”

Hannibal froze; the hand wrapped around Will’s neck tightened its grasp ever so slightly. Will’s chest brushed against his with every steady breath, his hands still resting on his hips. He thought about pulling back but couldn’t bear to dispel the buzzing energy between them (though the mood had been effectively ruined anyway), didn’t want Hannibal to think it was out of fear for his reaction.

“I wanted to kill her,” Will whispered. “I knew that I could. But I didn’t know if I could get away with it. There was too much to tie her to me.”

“And yet Jack was so willing to overlook it,” Hannibal supplied as everything seemed to click into place for him. He pulled back slightly, his eyes tracing over Will’s face, perhaps calculating whether or not he was being honest even in this; Will wondered if he was imagining the admiration in them. “Very clever, Will,” he congratulated. And then the dreaded question: “Why not tell me straight away?”

Will dropped his gaze to his hands, took a moment to appreciate how right they looked clinging to Hannibal. “Because...I didn’t want this to be real. Because I didn’t know how much I needed it to be, until now,” he forced himself to raise his eyes back to Hannibal. “I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with you,” he admitted, “and I don’t want to fight that anymore.”

“Then don’t,” the words met the air only a moment before Hannibal’s lips met his, and Will could do nothing more than let out a sob of relief at the sensation, tightening his hold on Hannibal’s waist and pushing closer to him; tears slid from his eyes when he squeezed them shut. The hand that had laid upon his neck snaked around his skull to tighten in his curls, the other arm wrapped around his lower back to keep their bodies locked together. When Will opened his mouth to pull in a shaky breath, Hannibal allowed it for a moment, before striking forward once again to slip his tongue inside. Will moaned as they slid together and his chest grew tight with the utter care and devotion he felt Hannibal wrapping around him.

He couldn’t stop the next sob that welled up, breaking away from Hannibal’s mouth to bury his face in the man’s neck in shame. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chanted in broken gasps, and Hannibal shushed him, tilting his face up to brush his lips tenderly along the tracks of tears that streaked his cheeks.

“Are you mine, Will?” he murmured as he kissed away the tears, cupped his jaw gently to brush a thumb through damp stubble. “From this moment on, are you mine?”

Will forced his eyes open, though he knew that looking upon Hannibal’s forgiveness might be the hardest thing he has ever had to do. He nearly broke again at the tenderness and desire in the doctor’s gaze. “Completely,” he swore, “Always,” he vowed, “ _Hannibal_ ,” he whimpered, and Hannibal pressed forward to capture his lips once more.

Hannibal held him like that for a time, alternating between exploring his mouth and kissing his tear-stained cheeks and mouthing down the column of his neck. “Come to bed,” he murmured against his jaw at some point, and Will could only nod and allow himself to be led upstairs.

It may have been the wine and scotch or the way that his confession and forgiveness had left him utterly spent--perhaps a combination of the two--but Will scarcely realized that they had been disrobing until they were on the bed and tangled together, bare. Hannibal’s hands were in far too many places at once for only having the two of them, his lips exploring every other inch of Will that his appendages weren’t discovering. Will found himself simultaneously melting into the bed and arching up against the solid body that draped across the length of him, his own hands inching to explore every foreign bit of the man above him. Their limbs stayed tangled together the entire time, until Hannibal was forced to break away to retrieve a bottle of lube from the nightstand.

“Will, _Will_ ,” Hannibal murmured against his throat, and Will thought dizzily that he could live the rest of his life only hearing Hannibal whisper his name, could feed and thrive and lie in the sound forever. “My darling Will,” he breathed as his fingers breached him, and Will cried out and bore down on his hand, aching to accept any bit of Hannibal inside him that he could get. It had been many years since the experimental days of college had seen him with a male partner, but Will found his body opening for Hannibal as if it had done so a hundred times before; as if he belonged there. Perhaps he did.

Hannibal worked meticulously to stretch him open, mouthing along his neck and collarbone until Will was squirming beneath him, panting and begging for more.

“I need you,” Will gasped as Hannibal curled his fingers to brush against his prostate. “ _Fuck_ , Hannibal, please,  _I need you_.”

It seemed enough to convince him, for shortly after he was gently extricating his fingers and slicking his thick cock up before guiding to Will’s entrance. He paused for a moment, and Will knew what he was waiting for; brought a hand up to guide Hannibal’s forehead to his own and opened his eyes so that the gaze of each other was all that either could see.

“If I am yours then you are mine,” Will informed him, though he felt fairly confident that Hannibal already agreed with that sentiment.

“Completely,” he swore as he pushed into Will’s tight hole, “Always,” he vowed as he bottomed out and his hips rested flush against Will’s thighs.

Will panted and shook with the feeling of such fullness, every inch of him quivering as he lifted his limbs to wrap around Hannibal, pull him closer still. He took a moment to appreciate the way their bodies slotted together, the comforting weight of Hannibal spread over him and the satisfying fullness of having him inside, and then he tilted his chin up to press their lips together in a tender kiss and murmured, “Then claim me.”

It was all Hannibal needed to spur him on, the demand having the immediate and satisfying result of Hannibal pulling back and slamming into him fully once again. Will cried out at the sensation, arching his body up into the motion when it was repeated. “Yes, _please_ ,” he ground out, tightening the hold of his legs around Hannibal, his body convulsing to drive him closer with his legs while bucking up with his hips in an attempt to pull him deeper yet.

Hannibal let out a growl, rearing back to seize Will’s legs from around his torso and throwing them effortlessly to drape across his shoulders. His hands found Will’s hips in a bruising grip, lifting them higher still until all of Will’s weight was suspended from the bed except for where his upper torso still met the mattress. He began a grueling pace then, fucking into Will as though he might never be afforded the pleasure again. The way he held Will’s hips tilted had his cock brushing along Will’s prostate with every thrust, and all Will could do was fist his hands in his own hair and struggle breathe, each inhale a gasp and each exhale a sob of pleasure as a familiar heat built simultaneously in the pit of his gut and at the base of his spine.

“Oh, God,” he surprised himself with his ability to form actual words rather than the grunts and whines that had been spilling from his throat for the last several minutes. “Hannibal...I’m gonna come,” he sobbed, and Hannibal kept up his relentless pace, leaned down to capture Will’s lips in a brief kiss.

“Come for me, mylimasis,” he murmured against his mouth breathlessly. Will didn’t know the word he spoke to him, but the way that he said it was unmistakable in its affection and devotion, and Will knew that whatever it meant, that word was for him and him alone.

He came, untouched, his cock spasming between them to release his pleasure that spilled hotly across his chest. Shocking jolts of satisfaction pulsed through him, turned almost unbearable as Hannibal continued to fuck him through his orgasm before finally thrusting their hips together one more time and stilling as his release flooded deep into Will. Though a distant part of him knew that it was only a feeling manufactured by his intense arousal, Will couldn’t help but think that he could feel Hannibal’s seed burning hotter than it should, completely and irrevocably marking Will as his from the inside out.

Hannibal dropped his legs and Will melted into the mattress, used every remaining ounce of energy to raise his sluggish arms up to pull Hannibal down to him. In response, he pulled his softening cock from Will and stretched out the length of him. The way he gazed down at Will made him want to sob again, his chest tightening with emotion reflexively; Will knew that no one on this earth had ever looked at him like that before, and no one else ever would. Will wished he would break the silence, but Hannibal seemed content to just study the man beneath him. The way he reached up to brush the sweat-plastered curls from his forehead with an intimate tenderness was almost too much for Will handle, and he found himself blurting out the first thing that came to his lips to break the spell that had woven itself around them.

“What are you thinking about?” They were words, and coherent ones at that, but it was such a cliched, overbearing girlfriend question that Will cringed internally, wished he could take it back.

Hannibal didn’t seem to mind, continued to sweep his gaze over every feature of Will’s and moved his hand to stroke his cheek once, softly. “I was thinking that before this moment I believed that you could never be more beautiful than when you were suffering and broken.”

Will couldn’t help but give a snort at that, pushing the doctor off of him until he got the hint and twisted their bodies to tangle together on their sides. “Your pillow talk needs work, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal graced him with a small smile, his hand returning to stroking Will’s curls away from his face. “I was a fool. If I had known then that the beauty of your ecstasy eclipsed your suffering so completely I daresay we might have had a more pleasant courtship.”

Absurd as it was, the compliment made him blush; Will felt heat flaming his cheeks, twisted his face into the pillow coyly to smother his grin. Reality seemed to settle into him the moment his body had finished buzzing with pleasure, and he turned a solemn gaze back to the man beside him.

“We are going to have to leave. Jack won’t stop now until your caught,” the mention of Jack only served to remind him that this was his fault. His anger, his vendetta; Jack was the mad dog that Will had let tear after its prey and now there was no getting him back on the leash.

This revelation was met with a soft hum, and then Hannibal shifted ever closer to him. “Do we need to leave tonight?” he asked. Will shook his head. “Then for tonight, don’t worry yourself with it.”  He closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Will’s form and pulling their mouths together once more.

It was an intoxicating thing, kissing Hannibal. Will knew what power and darkness trembled beneath the flesh of the man, could feel it pressed against him and wrapped around him; could feel it enveloping him, encasing him like a cocoon and when Will emerged again he was certain that his next form would be something slightly less human than it was before.

Drowning in Hannibal’s scent and darkness and adoration, with only his lover’s lips to usher breath into him, Will gave a soft moan at the notion and thought that maybe that was just fine.


End file.
